Backwards Insomniac
by pancakesareking
Summary: Yaoi. [FarfarelloxNagi]One night of pseudo-liberating conversation leads to cereal testing, smoking, and the cure a horrible case of insomnia.


Hello, Duckies!

**Title: **Backward Insomniac

**Summary: **One night of pseudo-liberating conversation leads to cereal testing, smoking, and the cure a horrible case of insomnia.

**Pairing:** Farfarello/Nagi

**Rating:** PG-13

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Weiss. Oh, and the song is "The Disco before the breakdown" by Against Me!

**Author's Notes: **[Bonjour!] If you've read my story "Touch," I suppose this story will be sort of like it. Of course, I plan for the two bishounen to get together in a different way this time. This will be a get-together story, as that is what I enjoy most, if no one has noticed yet.

If you follow the jaw line down over the heart, The curves of your bone and muscle that make up your head to toe... It's just skin and thread, stitches and ligaments, Words that we spoke only to regret. I know they're going to laugh at us When they see us out together holding hands like this. They wouldn't understand it if we told them all the reasons, Not that I think this deserves any kind of explanation. And we'll, we'll make it up so we've got a smile painted on all the time, No matter what it's like on the inside. We'll keep this, keep us like a secret, Because if my family and friends ever found out about the things we could never be, Haunts we'll all keep, so fucking bittersweet.                                                              -Against Me! 

-Backward Insomniac-

Midnight.

With no windows to speak of in the spacious kitchen, a plain silver Timex was the only indication of the time. It was only by chance that sleep-deprived cerulean eyes darted to the face of the watch exactly as the minute hand fell upon twelve.

Four hours, three bowls of cereal, and two cups of herbal tea, with no progress whatsoever.

The milk had been warmed before poured graciously into the bowls of generic cereal, and day-old newspapers had been arranged in the vague shape of a pillow, with some vain hope of finding rest on the steely kitchen table. 

12:02.

Circumstantial evidence would prove that Nagi Naoe had already digested three over-the-counter sleeping pills, with no effect, ill or otherwise. The warning label had mentioned something about overdosing in the form of more than one pill a night, but Nagi chose to overlook that. He couldn't care less if he passed out from the self-induced vomiting he might need. Nagi would pass it off as a nap, a peaceful slumber—something that didn't require his nightly ritual of soggy, warm cereal and badly made tea.  

12:03

Television didn't help, much to his dismay. What should have been boring news programs proved quite interesting, and any late night movie marathon was just irritating. Music proved no better; even the soothing sounds of the sea tape he had bought did nothing but embarrass him (honestly, who fell asleep to the sounds of waves crashing on the shore?).

Two hours of research on Insomnia helped in no way. He had tried ever remedy the Internet had to offer. Well, Nagi thought with a blush, there had been one man who wrote about his insomnia, and had cured it with a good bout of sex. Surely there were other ways... Besides, Nagi had no one to have sex with! Sure there was a handsome man with a healthy libido in the room next to his, but...

Nagi slammed his spoon down into his cereal. The milk had already gone cold again; something Nagi wasn't sure was possible. And now, to make matters worse, he was entertaining the thought of sex with another man! He was used to thinking both men and women could be overly attractive, but still... Sex was a whole other ballgame.

Plus, if he had to choose any of his teammates, it would be Farfarello.

And where in the hell did that come from?

"I'm not thinking about this right now," Nagi stated firmly.

"Can't sleep?" A single golden eye focused on Nagi's surprised face. Farfarello had been on his way to watch television in the living room, when he heard the youngest member of Schwartz talking to himself.

"I didn't know anyone else was awake," Nagi stated calmly, focusing on his cereal once more.  Oh, God, he hoped he wasn't blushing. "Nor did I know you could escape your confines so easily."

The young Irishman chuckled. "I thought you knew everything, Nagi."

His name sounded odd rolling off of Farfarello's tongue, and Nagi couldn't decided if it was a good sort of odd, or a bad sort of odd. Perhaps it was just odd.

"Hardly," he murmured thoughtfully. It was flattering, to know Farfarello considered him so smart. Unless, of course, that was the psychopath's way of calling Nagi a geek.

12:07

Nagi wasn't surprised when Farfarello slid into the chair directly opposite of him. He didn't look up, but could easily imagine the way Farfarello's single eye was taking in everything around him, especially the empty bowls scattered on the square table. One bowl was at each seat, Nagi realized belatedly, as if each member of Schwartz had eaten with him.

How embarrassing.

"Is it bad?"

Nagi blinked, and looked up. Farfarello had gotten comfortable; his scarred face lay comfortably on one of his arms, which he had laid beside the bowl in front of him. God only knew where the other arm was.

"Is what bad?"

"The insomnia."

Farfarello liked the way Nagi's eyes lowered momentarily to his bowl of what appeared to be oatmeal, and his nose wrinkled in disgust. "Yes," he answered solemnly. Nagi did everything solemnly, it seemed.

"What have you tried to cure it?"

"Are you trying to make conversation?"

"I'm trying to understand you."

With a thoughtful hum, Nagi replied, "Good luck."

"What have you tried to cure your insomnia?"

Everything, Nagi wanted to say, instead making a mental list so Farfarello couldn't ask many more questions. "Television… Music… Warm milk… Herbal tea… Exercise… Pills… Everything the internet said I should."

"You are a slave to the internet."

"That's not logical," Nagi bit out in his usual monotone.

"Neither are four bowls of oatmeal."

"It's health bran." A spoonful of the mushy food was held up as proof.

Without warning, Farfarello lifted his head and ate the cereal. He chewed calmly while Nagi opened and closed his mouth several times. Surprisingly, the Japanese teen spoke an octave higher from his droll voice. "I ate off of that!"

"So did I."

Trying to gain his composure, Nagi closed his lips in a straight line, feeling the corners pull down into a frown. Childishly, he muttered, "**God** help us all."

A bark of laughter answered him, to his shock. "That's not funny," Farfarello said, still chuckling. When he was finished, he let his eye wander over Nagi's face. He looked so tense, sitting with his shoulders hunched, and his spoon wavering over the cereal. And on that subject, it had tasted like shit. But then, Farfarello wasn't a cereal expert. "What do you think of blenders?"

It was Nagi's turn to examine Farfarello. Had he two eyes, and no scars, he would have looked like a child then, with his lips parted slightly in curiosity, head tilted to the side, single eye shining. Still, with the scars, and the eye-patch, he was still… Nagi blinked. Still what? Normal? Innocent? Beautiful?

The spoon hit the milk with a splash, and Nagi didn't even notice the white liquid dribbling down his plain gray night-shirt. He most certainly hadn't thought that last thought! Not at all. Not about crazy madman Farfarello. Not about the psychopath who loved to talk about God!

He didn't want to have sex with him, and he most certainly wasn't attracted to him!

Wait. That wasn't right. He wasn't attracted to him, and he most certainly didn't want to have sex with him!

A blush would have been hard to ignore, at that point.

12:13

Nagi really had to stop looking at his watch. He pulled it off of his wrist, and threw it across room, Farfarello watching all the while.

"You must think a lot about blenders. Or, nothing at all," Farfarello stated knowingly.

"What?"

"I asked you what you thought of blenders."

Oh. Nagi pushed his former thoughts, focusing instead on blenders. What the hell kind of question was that? He didn't know what he thought of them, mainly because he never thought of them. They were loud, made smoothies, and Farfarello liked them. But he could do better than that. "I think...they're destructive."

It was even more like a child when Farfarello's eye lit up. "Destruction hurts God!"

Nagi shrugged. "I'm no expert." He pushed aside the bangs that had fallen into his eyes, missing the way Farfarello's eye tracked his movement. "I'm curious. What do you think of…" He wanted to ask about religion, to hear what Farfarello had to say about that. Still, the resident psychopath was lucid, and he didn't want to ruin that. "... The cereal Brad buys?"

Pale lips slowly stretched into a sardonic smile. "It tastes like shit."

"What's your favorite cereal?"

Without blinking, the Irish boy replied, "Lucky charms."

Had Nagi been the laughing type, he would have laughed. Instead, he covered his mouth with his hand while he smiled.

"I've never eaten cereal," Farfarello said.

Somehow, that wasn't surprising. "I-Brad bought another kind, with more sugar in it."

"Why aren't you eating that?"

"The sugar will keep me awake," Nagi replied factually.

Farfarello simply nodded and stood up. "I'm going to watch TV. Come with me?"

"I don't have anything else to do."

Before Nagi stood up, Farfarello lifted the bowl in his spot off the table, and went to the cabinet where they kept breakfast foods. He had been mostly attentive while Crawford explained the "system," mainly to find out where he kept the knives. There was, in fact, another box of cereal, in a colorful box. It was generic, and Farfarello had never heard of it. He poured some into his bowl, and smothered it with milk.

Nagi watched silently.

He followed Farfarello into the living room, and sat next to him on the large leather couch. Lazily, Nagi floated the remote over from the coffee table, pretending not to notice the way Farfarello's scarred, bony fingers wrapped around it. They were just fingers, he told himself. Nothing special.

Yeah, right.

"Cooking channel," Farfarello said as he pressed the power button. Indeed, a cooking show filtered onto the screen, focusing on a man chopping fish expertly with several knives at once. Farfarello was instantly captivated.

"Here." Distractedly, Farfarello reached into the pocket of his bondage pants and pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. He threw it to Nagi.

The boy peered inside, surprised to see a lighter and a few cigarettes lying neatly inside. "You don't smoke." It was sort of an accusation, he guessed.

"Nor do you," Farfarello replied. "It will help you sleep."

Farfarello took a large bite from his spoon, letting milk drip along his lower lip.

Nagi stared, fascinated. "Tobacco is a stimulant."

"Yes."

"It wasn't a question. It will keep me awake."

"You won't sleep either way. It will do no harm. I believe it will make you sleep, though."

"Why?" Nagi was already lifting the cancer stick to his mouth, grateful he at least knew which way to smoke it. For some reason, he didn't want to look stupid in front of Farfarello.

"I know something you don't know," Farfarello sang in his raspy voice, eyes still glued to the television screen.

"What does that mean?" It was hard to talk around the cigarette, and even harder to light it. By the time he actually got the flame to emit from the lighter, he was sure his thumb was cramped. It went out before he could light it, though.

"I'll do it." Before he could protest, two pale fingers snatched the cigarette from his mouth. Blue eyes watched, confused, as his teammate stuck the stick between his own lips. The same scarred thumb responsible for stealing the cigarette ignited the lighter easily, and inhaled.

He took two more puffs before handing it back to Nagi. Then, he took another bite of cereal. Then two more.

It seemed he liked it.

And all Nagi could think, staring at the cigarette, was, 'second-hand kiss.'

He smoked it down to the butt, deciding not to act smug for not being tired.

Feeling slightly guilty for doing so, Nagi thought perhaps the man really was a psychopath, in every sense of the word. But Farfarello could be so smart when he was lucid, Nagi told himself.

This was why it didn't make any sense that the man beside him had thought the stimulant would… A yawn broke through his thoughts, startling him.

Farfarello had luckily seated himself with his good eye beside Nagi, so as to take advantage of his peripheral vision. He smirked as Nagi yawned again, sapphire eyes drooping slightly.

"Tired?"

"Hardly."

"I thought so."

Nagi scowled. "Why?"

Farfarello tore his eye from the screen. "Because," he rasped patiently, "you work backwards, Nagi. Everything that should have made you tired, only maybe you more awake. You're just a backwards boy."

"I don't understand,"

"Comprehension isn't everything," Farfarello murmured. The chef was making beef stew! And all Nagi could do was talk, talk, talk!

"And revenge is?" Nagi quipped softly.

"Yes."

"You don't make any sense, Farfarello."

Had there been a commercial, Farfarello might have been more open to conversation. If that was even what he and Nagi were having. More like sharing insomnia, he thought, peering at the boy beside him. Nagi didn't know he was being watched, it seemed, as his eyes were planted on the hands rested neatly in his lap.

"We'll be right back, after this break."

Ah. Farfarello reached out a hand, and stroked the boy's cheek. It was so soft, and pale. Not like his skin, though; it was a different sort of pale. He rubbed his thumb along the childish jaw, and up to Nagi's ear, before letting his hand wander into the chocolate locks that curled slightly around his eyes.

"I'm curious," he said.

Nagi blinked sleepily, looking like the little boy he probably never got to be. "About what?"

Farfarello sat his bowl of half-empty cereal on the coffee table.

"Are you tired?"

Hardly coherent, Nagi answered, "Yes."

"Ah."

He placed his other hand softly on Nagi's other cheek, careful not to startle him. He was an assassin after all; he could do the stealth thing. With a chuckle, he leant forward, and pressed his lips to Nagi's.

At first, the boy didn't respond. Farfarello was sure he had fallen asleep, until he felt a gasp, and warm breath wash across his lips. He could smell the nicotine, but didn't mind at all. He slipped his tongue into Nagi's mouth, smirking when he felt the boy clumsily returning the favor.

Lips still attached, Nagi crawled over to Farfarello's lap and straddled it. He was so tired he could barely open his eyes. Kissing Farfarello felt so nice, though! He would have thought Farfarello was a rough kisser, as passionate about it as he was with hurting God. He just couldn't understand Farfarello, no matter how hard he tried!

So maybe he was a little attracted to Farfarello, he told himself with a mental yawn. And maybe he liked him a little more than anyone else. Just maybe.

He broke the kiss, to his own surprise. A golden eye peered at him curiously. "I'm tired," Nagi stated in his usual bored tone, though it was followed directly by a yawn.

Seconds later, the boy was out, his head resting on Farfarello's chest. The Irishman ran his fingers through Nagi's hair, chuckling at his own cleverness. Nagi breathed in deeply, and turned his face towards Farfarello.

"Welcome back!"

It was an ideal time to admire the boy's beauty, but there were knives on television; and raw meat, still bleeding slightly.

He chose to watch the knives.

After all, he'd get more chances to watch Nagi sleeping.

Insomnia's a bitch, he thought, and smiled at the television screen.

[Fin!]

Oh, Jesus. I kept going back to work on this so many times, I wouldn't be surprised if it didn't make any sense. Nagi likes Farfarello; he doesn't; he can't decide... Why do I do this to myself?

Anyway, originally, Nagi had been entertaining thoughts of dead Tot, until I decided I never liked Tot, so she doesn't exist in my little world. Ha!


End file.
